From the Fishouse

In Springfield, Oregon, I hung the state
of Georgia flag above my bed,
remembering what my father said
just before I left:

If you can’t sleep
with red clay beneath your feet,
at least you can see
the Stars and Bars above.

A collector’s item now, unfurled it meant
making please understand me love
to men who never stood a chance
beneath its long-dead, distant light.